
Class _P^S3l£JJ- 

Book- .15^7^173 

coipgiitu" l-ix\ 

COP«RIGRT DEPOSm 



DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA 



By the same author 

Depths and Shallows, $1.50 

The Nonnan, Remington Co. 



DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
SALLY BRUCE KINSOLVING 



BALTIMORE 

THE NORMAN, REMINGTON COMPANY 

1922 






Copyrighted, 1922, by 
THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. 



Published October 1922 



Printed in the United States of America at the Press of G. A. PETERS CO. 



©CU690715 

DEC 26 "22 



/ wish to thank the editors of Poetry , 
The Reviewer, The New York Sun, 
and The Baltimore American for their 
permission to include in this volume 
the verse which has already appeared 
in those publications. 

S. B. K. 



To 

A. B. K. 

''Who shall end my dream s confusion} 
Life is a loom weaving illusion. . . . ' 



CONTENTS 

PART I. DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA 3 

PART II. THREADS OF GOSSAMER 

Adventure 2^ 

Once 26 

The Crossways 2/ 

Tapestry 28 

Truth 29 

Color 30 

IfYou Should Die 31 

"A Chartered Borrower" 32 

As The Wind 33 

A Word 34 

Plaint ^^ 

If I Could Know 36 

Heart-Break 37 

Chalices 38 

December Night 39 

Snow 40 

When You Go Away 41 

Planets 42 

Lamplight 43 

Silence 44 

Beauty Walks Abroad 45 

Wounded 46 

The Road 47 

Unrest 48 

Flood-Tide 49 

Winter Twilight 51 



Anguish 52 

Unheard 53 

Loneliness 54 

February 55 

You and I 57 

When Spring Returns 58 

Scourge 59 

Contrast 60 

My Thought 61 

A Forest 62 

Mist 63 

Summer Stars 64 

Do You Wonder 65 

Forgiven 66 

Dominoes 67 

Prelude 68 

What Is Time 69 

Wild-Geese 70 

A Closed Book 71 

March Wind 72 

At Times 73 

DafFodils 74 

Wizardry 75 

The Call 76 

April 

I— Pursuit 77 

II— After Rain 77 

III— Purple 79 

IV— I Have Not Lost You 79 

Spring Voices 80 

Words Are Too Tattered 82 

Search 83 

Giving 84 



Ghosts 85 

Mirrors 86 

The Sea 

I— Downs 90 

II — Foreboding 90 

III— Like Ships 91 

IV— Rhythm 91 

V— A Moment 91 

VI— Mooring 92 

VII— The Beach 92 

VIII— Island Fog 93 

Sonnets 

I 96 

II 96 

III 97 

IV 97 

A Valley 99 

Summer Night 100 

What Is Spring 101 

Aspiration 103 

Thorns 104 



PART I 

David and Bath-Sheba 



DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

DAVIDy King of Israel and Judah, 
JOAB, Captain of the Host. 
URIAH, the Hittite. 
NATHAN, the Prophet. 
BATH-SHEBA, the wife of Uriah. 
Soldiers, Messengers, Servants. 

DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA. 
PROLOGUE 

Joab stands talking with a soldier. 

Joab 

Ah, wherefore does the King now tarry. . . . 
He has not deigned to enter his council cham- 
ber, 
Although his captains are still there assembled 
In order to devise a plan to check 
The enemies of Israel and Judah. 

Soldier 

I do not know, my lord, where we may find him. 
Three dawns have spent their fires and worn to 

evening, 
And yet we have not seen him. . . . 

3 



Joab {gazing tensely at the speaker) 

And do you not suspect that some strange fever 
Has attacked his brain to cause him to forget 
The danger that assails us? 

Soldier 

Again 
My lord, I do not know, but I have seen 
At times a distant look within his eyes 
Like that the early morning oft bestows 
Upon the sea, and though it is apart 
From my familiar wont at any hour 
To spy upon his Majesty, the King, 
While keeping watch alone, I found him 

troubled 
In his sleep and calling more than once 
Upon the name Bath-sheba. 

Joab {looking up in a startled manner) 

Pray tell me 
Who is she ? 

Soldier 

The fair young wife, my lord, 
Of Uriah, the Hittite. 

Joab 

I know her not. 
And therefore bid you to impart to me 
All knowledge you may have of her. 



Soldier 

Her father 
Gave her hand in marriage to Uriah, 
According to the habit of our land, 
Ere she beheld him; and I attended 
Once of late upon my lord the King 
When first he sat at supper with Uriah — 
And as within the silent, hushed blue night, 
When suddenly appearing over Hermon, 
The full-moon rises in her majesty — 
There, with veil thrown back, in pallid beauty 
Stood Bath-sheba. ... I saw the King 
Start . . . like a man upon the watch 
When some strange light breaks forth 
Upon his vision. His eyes sought hers 
And when they met, two streams, I knew. 
Were lost within each other. She brought him 
Meat and drink, and though he had not broken 
Fast since morning, he scarcely seemed 
To see that food was set before him, 
But looked like one within a dream. ... 

Joab 

Ay then, 
Though not according to the way I thought, 
It is a fever that assails his mind. 
It is a subtle madness seizing upon life 
That causes one to forget all else — 
Duty — even God Himself. It is a mist 
Like that which creeps along the purling 
streams 



Through greening meadows in the early spring 
When willow boughs are tinged with tawny gold, 
While through the low and overhanging clouds 
The sun bursts forth with soft enthralling ra- 
diance. 
It is the stir within the pulse behind all life — 
Its essence and its poetry. . . . 
And yet at times with wild unrest it shakes 
The sure foundations of our being, and seethes 
With strange conflicting currents in the blood. 
If such a madness has beset the King, 
It is for me to plan the downfall of his enemies. 
Then let us be about our duty. . . . 
The King will tarry at Jerusalem. 

[The curtain rises as they leave the stage. 
1 he scene is a roof of the King's palace, furnished 
only with a couch and arms nearby. David, 
the King, reclines upon the couch. The time 
is near midnight. 

David {slowly rising) 

I know not why this tumult ploughs my brain. 
My limbs are weary, yet I cannot sleep. 
So new is night she hardly has had time 
To cool the parched earth. Could I but lose 
Myself in dreams, then I might wake at dawn 
To stem the tide of battle with my men. 

[He sinks back upon his couch^ but rises 
again almost immediately . 
I barely lay my head upon my couch 
Ere I behold a vision of such beauty 

6 



I fain would give the sleep of all the years 
For but one kiss upon her scarlet lips — 
If only I might crush her body's self 
Within my hungry arms. . . . 

[He walks to and fro with head bowed. 

Oh God, am I 
Thy servant David, who can forget 
Thy mercy and Thy loving kindness, and all 
The wealth and power Thou hast given me — 
Or am I now no longer my true self? 
Two wills contend within me for mastery, 
Like wrestlers on a plain. . . . Wives 
Thou hast bestowed upon me, and yet 
They have no mind wherewith to meet my own; 
And when I think upon Bath-sheba, 
I see the dawn lifting her beauty from behind 
The hills that stand about Jerusalem, 
Spreading her radiance over all the sea, 
And bringing in the splendor of new day. . . . 
For when her eyes meet mine, they sink so deep 
Into my soul they find my inmost self. 
And raise me up to heaven's gate with ecstasy. 
And am I not the King of Thine appointing, 
With power to fulfill my will } Once 
I was a shepherd-lad, content with morning 
And all the freshness of the dew-wet day — 
Watching my sheep beside the clean bright 

streams 
And listening to the song of birds. . . . 
W^eary at noon beneath the sun's hot rays, 
Yet satisfied to slake my thirst in water. 



And to appease my hunger with coarse bread; 
Heavy with slumber when the darkest night 
Rested upon the hills, and startled only 
Into wakefulness at some unearthly cry 
Of bold attacking beast. From this con- 
tentment 
Thou hast taken me to wear a crown, 
And surely Thou wouldst not deny me more 
Than all my kingdom and my wealth — ay, more 
Than life itself. It is a part, Bath-sheba, 
Of fate's malicious trickery to have given you 
To another, but you are mine alone, 
And I am now impelled to claim you. 

[He ascends a turret to look toward the 
house of Uriahs the Hittite, and at that 
moment the moon escaping from a 
cloud reveals Bath-sheba upon the roof 
of her husband* s house. 
The moon withdraws the curtains of the night, 
And with a sudden burst of glory 
Enables me to see you from afar, 
Bath-sheba. . . . 

[He hastens forth eagerly. 
[The stage is darkened for a few moments 
until there appears as the second scene 
the roof of the house of Uriah, White 
oleanders are growing in large pots 
near a couch where Bath-Sheba is 
reclining, attired in filmy drapery with 
a violet robe lightly thrown over her. 
Beyond stands a marble basin carved 



like a lotus flower with an ewer resting 
beside it. The time is shortly after 
ynidnight, 

Bath-sheba {slowly rising from her couch, with her 
hands behind her head) 
It is so warm tonight I cannot sleep, 
And while the moon is veiling the watchful stars 
With silver, I'll dip into the whiteness 
Of my marble bath. . . . 

[She walks forward and gazes dreamily out 
into the night. 

Why should I think 
Upon the King— treasuring each look and word 
That he has given me, finding delight 
In each one separately, yet counting all 
Together like rubies in a necklace 
Until they press too heavily upon me. 
Burning me with their passion and their color. 
Since that night we met, in thought I dwell 
Upon him every moment. . . . Then it 

seemed 
As if some strange enthralling power had seized 

me, 
And had brought me face to face with all 
That I had been or ever might become, 
For in his eyes I knew that I had found 
My end of being. ... I am possessed 
With thought of him alone who is my life. 
Has he yet gone to battle, and does he tent 
Under these midnight skies that are so wan 



With all the lovely palor of the moon ? 

Can it be tomorrow's sun will stain the earth 

With blood? 

[She shudders. 

My God — not his, not his! 
\She approaches the marble basin and 
pours water into it. 
Listen to the cooling water trickling 
As from a stream on Lebanon. 
\She partly unrobes. 

How white 
And fair my limbs are in the moonlight. 

{Startled at the noise of footsteps she turns 
suddenly. 
What sound is that I hear! 

{in terror) 
Behold the shadow 
Of a man! 

[She seizes the violet robe. 
The voice of David Bath-sheba ! 

Bath-sheba {with head thrown back and eyes half- 
closed^ breathing heavily) 

Ah, what music 
Stole upon the night to call my name. . . . 
[The King draws near. 

David 

It is I — the King. 

[He takes Bath-sheba' s hands into his. 
Bath-sheba {anxiously) 

10 



My lord — and wherefore 
Have you come? 

David {holding her at arm's length) 

To admire your loveliness. Do you 
Not know that all my heart goes out in craving 
To possess you ? You are my own, Bath-sheba. 

Bath-sheba {breaking away from him and tur?jing 
her head aside) 
My lord, do you forget my husband? 

David {bending over her passionately) 

He is but my servant, and you are mine 
At will. 

Bath-sheba 

Yet he is good and kind to me, 
My lord, and I have loved to serve him. 
As he to serve the King. 

David 

And have you then 
No love for me? 

Bath-sheba {with a sob) 

My lord. . . . 

David 

Do you not see 
That far up in the heavens the moon 

11 



Has cast aside the mantle that protected her, 
And reigns effulgent over all the night? 
Henceforward shall you share my throne, my 

life. 
Bath-sheba, do you not love me? 

[He draws her closer to him. She trembles 
in his arms^ closing her eyes and resting 
her head upon his breast, 

Bath-sheba 

It is heaven to rest here. . . . 
I am so much alone, and now the music 
Of your voice steals over all my being. 
It is so strange, so new — it seems to me 
As if I were another. Your breath 
Upon my cheek is like the incense of the night. 
And in your arms my heart finds peace in- 
effable. 

David 

Do you not call this love? 

Bath-sheba I know not love — 

I only know that I would have this moment 
Last forever. 

David 

Call it by what name you will, 
But when two souls are lost within each other, 
High-pinnacled upon a giddy height of time, 

12 



It is such love as poets dream of endlessly 
From age to age. 

[They stand within a long embrace. 

The stage is again darkened^ and then the third scene y 
an apartment in the Kings palace^ appears. 
An interval of several months has elapsed since 
the last scene. Bavid^ the King, is sitting upon 
his throne while a messenger kneels before him. 
The light of sunset falls across the floor. 

David {waving his hand) 

Depart — I wish to be alone. . . . 

[The messenger bows and leaves the room. 
The King bends forward, letting his 
head fall into his hands. 
With child — Bath-sheba now with child — my 
own. . . . 

[He looks up suddenly. 
But what of Uriah since I have summoned him 
From war? 

[He rises and rings, whereupon a mes- 
senger enters and makes obeisance. 

David 

Bring Uriah, the Hittite, 
Into my presence. 

[The messenger bows and departs. 

If I might only 
Rid my soul of one I hate. . . . 
[Uriah enters the room. 

13 



Uriah {bowing before the King) 
My lord the King. . . . 

David Arise and give 

The news you bring. How fares my captain, 

Joab, 
And the people? And does the war yet 

prosper.? 

U7iah 
So thick and fast your questions come, my lord, 
They are like arrows from our enemies. 
Our captain, Joab, still commands the battle. 
And though the lurid sun leaves nightly a trail 
Of blood upon the field, we yet outnumber 
All our enemies. The war still prospers. 

David 

Oh, may the God of battles now be praised 

For tidings such as these — and yet, Uriah, 

I know that you must be all worn and weary 

With the fray. I do beseech you 

To go to your own house to seek refreshment 

And the subtle peace that can subdue 

All warriors at the end of day. I bade 

My servants follow you with snow-cooled 

wine — 
And food — the best my palace offers. 

Uriah O King, 

I thank you, but I would rather far 
Return unto the field of battle. . . . 

14 



David {in angry amazement) 

Have you forgot your wife . . . and all 
The sweet allurement of your home? 

Uriah I have, 

My lord, for while the Ark and Israel 
And Judah abide in tents and are encamped 
Within the open fields — even your captain, 
Joab, and all the servants of my lord — 
Shall I alone go into my house, and eat 
And drink, and take my wife into my arms? 
As we both live, I will not do this thing. 

David {bowing his head for a moment, recovers him- 
self looking up suddenly) 
Then tarry here tomorrow and the next day. 
You may at least refresh your limbs with meat 
And drink, and rest your soul from battle. . . . 
{addressing his servants) 
Seek food and wine, and give this man 
The portion due a giant. 

[The servants how assent before the King. 
Uriah salutes him, and withdraws, fol- 
lowed by the two servants, 

David {alone and musing) 

I wear a crown, Uriah, while you were born 
To serve me — and yet you tower so far above 

me 
In lonely majesty of spirit, I count myself 
As but a stone upon the plain of Jordan, 

15 



And you, the crest of Mount Morlah's height. 
Yet ruled by some strange force. . . 
Older than tides or even barren hills, 
And more mysterious. . . I am compelled 
To claim you as my own, Bath-sheba. 
I must, therefore, devise some means to rid me 
Of this man who stands between us, and checks 
My royal will. Perchance the fate of battle 
May end my problem. I will write 
To Joab, my trusted captain, to place 
Uriah in the thick of fight, for surely 
Now he is indiflferent to all else. 
And thus at least may end his life with glory. 
[He rises, seizes parchment and pen, and 
begins to write. 

David {reading aloud) 

Unto Joab, the Captain of the Hosts 

Of Israel and Judah: Set Uriah 

In the forefront of the hottest battle. 

And retire from him, that he may soon be 

smitten. 
And then die. 

\He bows his head. 

Can I, the King, even David — 
Forget so soon all that I owe my people.'* 
Can this be murder? 
{He shudders. 

Unto what ends 
Does passion drive her slaves, despite the crowns 
They wear in their mock majesty! 

16 



The stage is darkened once more, and then the same 
apartment in the King's palace after a week's 
interval appears as the fourth scene. The King 
again is sitting upon his throne. A servant is 
in attendance upon him. The time is noon. 

David {anxiously) 

And have you not yet seen the smallest speck 
Upon the dim horizon's line betokening 
A message from the war? 

Servant 

Not I, my lord — 
But hark — I think that I now hear the cheering 
Of men's voices. 

[A messenger enters, falling breathlessly 
before the King. 

David {rising) 

What news? 

Messenger 

For three long days, 
My lord, the battle has raged furiously. 
So close we were upon the city's wall, 
A woman let a mill-stone fall upon Abimelech, 
The son of Jerubbesheth, and crushed him 

there 
To earth as if he were an ant. . . . 
Uriah too is dead. 

17 



David {bending forward eagerly) 

Dead! Ah, say to Joab, 
"Let not this thing displease you, for the sword 
Devours one as well as another, but make 
Your battle still more strong against the city. 
And overthrow it," and thus encourage him. 
And now depart, and send to me the wife 
Of this dead chieftain that I may break 
These tidings unto her. . . . 
[The King is left alone. 

David {musing) 

My dreams are all fulfilled, Uriah slain. 
His wife my own, and now, O God, to crown 
My high ambition. Thou mayest send to us 
A son. A King's will is supreme — 
Yet were I but a shepherd-lad again. 
With Bath-sheba, my cup of joy 
Would still be running over. . . . 

[He walks slowly up and down with head 
bowed. 
For then we would abide in fields of night, 
And wonder at the wisdom of the stars, 
And when your beauty stirred with dawn's 

first light, 
I should forget the shadows and the scars 
That life and battle give, which now despite 
My happiness, unwillingly I remember. 
Then we would roam in dewy meadows, white 
With blossoming, in gaiety together. 
Seeking the food that heaven alone should 
send — 

18 



Fresh pomegranates and the grape's unvintaged 

wine — 
Until the passionate warm day would end 
In golden vapor with the sun's decline, 
And melt in filmy maze of pale moonbeams, 
When we should find the day's joy in our dreams. 

[The King starts. 
But hark, here comes Bath-sheba. 

[Bath-sheba enters , followed by a servant. 
The King motions to the latter to depart. 

Bath-sheba {bowing before the King) 

My Lord, 
The King. . . . 

David {gently) 

I have news to shock you. 
Arm yourself to bear it. 

Bath-sheba {looking up anxiously) 

My lord. . . . 

David 

Uriah, your husband, has fallen 
In the fight. 

Bath-sheba 

Oh, no, my lord. . . . 
It cannot be. . . . 

[She falls upon her knees, and buries her 
head in the cushions of the couch. The 
King kneels beside her, bending over her. 

19 



Bath-sheba {sobbing violently) 

And I unfaithful 
To him. ... In bitterness of soul 
I now must reap my sin. Ah, had I been 
But true to him, I might have given myself — 
A stainless wife — to you. 

David 

Do not reproach 
Yourself, Bath-sheba. You had no will 
Apart from mine, and you are yet as pure 
In my own eyes as that fair snow that rests — 
Not only in the bitter cold of winter, 
But even under a raging summer sun — 
Upon the lonely heights of Hermon. . . . 
My passion could not stain nor melt your 

purity. 
My love — my wife. At last you are my own. 
And now by day and night, henceforth, I know 
That I may hold you in my arms and press 
Your lips to mine without the thin black 

shadow 
Of another's wrath to come between us. 
I love you with such passion, the mountain-bars 
Of all the earth could never part us. 
Only death might seem to separate us 
For a while — one from the other — 
But on an April night when I should see 
The moon slip quietly out of her blackened robe 
Full-lined with silver, then I should know 
That from the courts of heaven Bath-sheba 
Was shedding radiance over me. . . . 

20 



Bath-sheba 

Speak not of death, my lord— I cannot bear it. 
[He lifts her up and takes her into his arms 

David 

My own Bath-sheba. But hark— who dares 
To come into this chamber. 

[Nathan, the Prophet, enters making no 
obeisance to the King. The King re- 
leases Bath-sheba from his embrace. 
She Jails upon the floor beside the couch 
and rests her head upon her hand in a 
listening attitude. 
David {with astonishment) 

Nathan! 
Is it you — and wherefore have you come? 

Nathan {sternly) 

As the messenger of Jehovah, Lord of Lords 
And King of Kings. 

David 

And the tidings that you bear? 
[The King ascends his throne and Nathan 
stands bejore him. 

Nathan 

There once were two men dwelling in one city. 
In flocks and herds the one was rich, the other 
Poor — and only had one small ewe lamb. 
Which he had bought and nourished. And 
then there came 

21 



A traveller by that way, and he who was so rich 
Still spared to take of his own flock, and seized 
The poor man's lamb to dress it for the way- 
farer. 

[The King rises in anger. Bath-sheba 
draws near to him. 

David 

As the Lord lives, the man that did this thing 
Shall surely die. 

Nathan 

You are the man. 
[David bows his head. 

Nathan 

Why have you so despised the Lord your God 
To do this evil in his sight, for with the sword 
You know full well that you have killed Uriah, 
And have taken his wife to be your own. . . . 
The sword, therefore, shall not depart from you. 
Nor from your house. ''For though thou didst 

it secretly," 
Saith the Lord, "This thing I now will do 
Before all Israel and Judah." 

[The King kneels bejore the Prophet. 
Bath-sheba holds out her arms yearn- 
ingly towards him. 

David 

I have sinned against the Lord. . . . 

22 



Nathan 

The Lord has put away your sin. . . . 
You shall not die, yet since by your own sin 
You now have caused the enemies of Israel 
To blaspheme, your son shall surely die. 

[Nathan departs, while the King falls 
prostrate burying his head in his arms 
upon the dais of his throne. Bath- 
she ba kneels beside him, and bends 
helplessly over him. 

David 

Against Thee only have I sinned. 
And done this evil in Thy sight. 
Have mercy upon me, O God 
And blot out my transgression. . . . 



Curtain. 



23 



PART II 

Threads of Gossamer 



/ have no gift but song 

To give you^ 

And it is fashioned frail as dew 

Upon some pale sweet-scented flower. 

Or rain-drops 

Caught within an hour 

In silver threads of gossamer. 



ADVENTURE 

I have been soaring upon the backs of young 

eagles 
Over high mountain-tops, 

Looking down upon the broad, unknown reaches 
Of the world. 

I have been shattered and storm-beaten 
Like white petals of spent roses 
After summer rain. 

I have been caught up and burned 
In the zig-zag of forked lightning 
Against the dun sky. 

I have fallen down the night with a meteor. 

And choking with star-dust, 

I have been lost in unlimited space. 

I have been dreaming at the heart of a flower 

When gold pollen fell into it 

From the gauzy wings of a bee. . . . 

I have been reading the poetry of the young. 



25 



ONCE 

Once I would have given you 

With spendthrift recklessness 

All the strong red wine that youth pours out, 

But I have now 

Only the spirit's garnered loveliness 

From springs and autumns that are gone, 

And the radiant light 

The great white ship of Truth 

Leaves in her wake 

Upon the seas of life. . . . 

But youth has no such gentleness 

As I have to bestow upon you. 

The airs of morning lack the veiling mist 

That comes but when the slanting sun has kissed 

The purple hills. 

With thought of self 

Youth fills the fleeting hours 

And spills in wantonness 

Her bruised red flowers. 

While I would shield you from all weariness. 

Sending your cares away 

Like swallows on the wind 

At end of day. 



26 



THE CROSSWAYS 

I am standing at the crossways 
And looking down the lane; 

Before me beckons pleasure 
But I see her shadow pain. 

The autumn sun is dancing 
Upon the crimson leaves, 

And I hear the west-wind calling 
Out among the sheaves. 

I am standing at the crossways 
And looking down the lane — 

Before me beckons pleasure 
But I see her shadow pain. 



27 



TAPESTRY 

Like a rich tapestry 
Days I spent with you 
Dwell in my memory. 

Caught in its warp and woof 
Each moment stands aloof 
Bringing back joy to me. 

First of its colors are 

Eyes that I knew 

Were piercing me through and through 

With light from afar; 

And there are the words 
That tremble and start 
Like tropical birds 
In the flower of my heart; 

And then the clear full tone 
Of your deep voice alone 
Reading me poetry, 
Leaving an impress rare 
As that in color where 
Art has burned beauty. . . . 

Like a rich tapestry 

Days I have spent with you 

Dwell in my memory. 



28 



TRUTH 

Can day deny the sun on his return, 
When morning splinters light to silver on the sea, 
Or night deny the clear-eyed stars and spurn 
Their age-long message of reality? 



29 



COLOR 

Stretch out 

Your wild impetuous arms to me, 

Autumn, 

And draw me 

Into the heart of your colors. 

Let me swoon 
With the stupor 
Of your red W'ine 
In my blood. 

Give me 

The desperately sweet ripe smell 
Of your golden apples 
Falling to the ground. 

Warm me 

With your throbbing sunlight. 

And steep me in mellow radiance, 

That I may forget 

The sharp and cruel winds of winter 

That will soon sever my soul 

From your passionate beauty. 



30 



IF YOU SHOULD DIE 

If you should die tonight, 

Could I take up the threads 

Of life, 

And weave them into bright gay-colored images, 

Or should I wander blindly 

As one who treads 

Through thickly-falling snow, 

Without a light 

To beckon, 

Or home wherein to go? 



31 



**A CHARTERED BORROWER" 

A chartered borrower I would be 

Of age-long beauty and of wizardry: 

The light of Helen's eyes that brought 

Such woe to men, wrought 

By the will of Zeus; 

The call of ancient seas to Odysseus; 

Music that fell from Sappho's lips 

As magical water drips 

From moonlit fountains; even the spell that 

Cleopatra's 
Turbid passions cast upon Mark Antony; 
Love like Paola's and Francesca's, 
Or that for Abelard of Heloise. . . . 
Sumptuous fabrics such as these 
Of imperishable lore 

I would now weave with rich embroideries 
Out of my own heart's endless store 
Into recurrent, haunting melodies 
Singing the restless beauty of your eyes. 



32 



AS THE WIND 

I think of you as the wind 
On a March day 
When white clouds are racing 
In giant play. 

I think of you as the sea, 
Fierce, unfathomable, bold; 
Mighty to overcome — 
Strong to enfold. 



I think of you as morning — 
Dazzling in purity — white 
As an arch-angel's robe 
In endless light. . . . 



33 



A WORD 

I would not have you tell me 

That you love me — 

But do not be afraid 

To send me some quickened word 

Out of your depth of being, 

That while not seeing 

You, 

It may beat against the casement of my heart, 

Like an ardent bird 

That has suddenly made me start 

In the night 

With the flutter of its wings 

Beating against my shutter ere it sings 

With dawn's first light. 



34 



PLAINT 

My heart is worn and sad tonight 
To think it must grow old, 
For though it quivers with delight 
When April hesitant and white, 
Weaves daffodils of gold — 
Alas, it trembles now with fright 
And shivers in the cold — 
My heart is worn and sad tonight 
To think it must grow old. 



35 



IF I COULD KNOW 

If I could know you loved mcj 

Would it be 

As if the snows of yesterday 

Had cooled the airs of memory 

And wrapped me in a stillness as of morn 

When winter's light is born ? 

Or instead 

Should I be lifted 

As on wings of storm 

Against a summer sky, 

When suddenly 

From underneath black cloud 

Flame bursts with proud 

And passionate ecstasy — 

If I could know you loved me? 



ZS 



HEART-BREAK 

The lean moon shrouds the chill dead day, 
The spent leaves lie on the earth's cold bed 
The laughter of summer has melted away. 
And hope from a woman's heart has fled. 



37 



CHALICES 

I have drunk of beauty out of many a cup. . . . 

I have drained the strong new wine of April to 
the lees 

When she shatters the old bottles of old trees; 

I have stained my lips with purple from mid- 
summer seas, 

And sipped the golden honey of sun and bloom 
with bees. 

I have quaffed the deep red splendor of October 
noons, 

And slaked my thirst with silver from thin har- 
vest moons; 

I have been benumbed from winter's crystal 

chalice 
Held in white forests by cup-bearers clad in ice. 

I have drunk of beauty out of many a cup. . . . 



38 



DECEMBER NIGHT 

O little quiet sheltered room 
Safe from winter's hostile gloom, 
Your shaded lights around me glow 
Upon the books I love and know — 
On sculptured beauty born of Greece, 
On Dante's mediaeval peace, 
On Botticelli, Giotto, 
Buonarotti, Sanzio; 
On English lakes and college-halls 
With lace- work gates and stately walls; 
On flowered lanes in fragrant Devon — 
On church-towers pointing up to heaven; 
On fir-tree from some forest far 
Lighted with the Christmas star; 
Upon red-berried holly wreath 
And lily-buds in bursting sheath; 
On pussy-willows wont to fling 
Their soft arms out to welcome spring; 
On green downs painted by the sea, 
On pale sweet branching bay-berry; 
On ferns from out some woodland deep 
Where birds were singing love to sleep; 
On lovely shadows of the night 
Penciling in grey and white 
The century old hand-carven door, 
While Persian colors warm the floor — 
You are a place of shot and gleam, 
Of silent thought, enchanted dream, 
O little quiet sheltered room 
Safe from winter's hostile gloom. 



39 



/ 



SNOW 

With delicate fingers 

The soft and treacherous snow 

Now wraps each twig and leaf and stem 

Within a pall of silence 

And of death— 

But in my heart 
There is the joyful tumult 
Of ten thousand silver bells 
In the music-shaken trees 
Of a summer dawn. 



40 



WHEN YOU GO AWAY 

When you go away 

Then I enter your room, 

And suddenly 

A faint and lingering scent 

Of cigarettes 

Stabs me, 

Like the perfume of bruised violets 

In the quiet gloom 

Of twilight, and I begin to look 

Around me and I see 

A book 

That is open on its face 

In the place 

Where you laid it, 

And I find ashes still scattered on the floor, 

And my heart beats faster when I remember 

That before you left 

I loved to kneel and brush them out of the way, 

Because I knew that you had spilled them 

And would spill more. . . . 

And then I look into the mirror until it seems 

As empty as a house of dreams. 

Or the white-pillowed bed where recently you lay, 

And I shut the door 

Quietly — 

And go away. 



41 



PLANETS 

On windless nights the planets burn 
Their message in the sky, 

Without a single star to spurn 
Their lonely majesty; 

But I forbear then even to trace 
Their pathway up on high, 

Ashamed to look them in the face — 
So slight a thing am I. 



42 



LAMPLIGHT 

Your voice, your lips, your eyes 
All come before me now — 

Ah, would that I might rest 
My hand upon your brow. 

Night would not seem so dark 

Nor day so long, 
For hours would beat to music 

As words to song; 

And even the lamplit shadows 
Would steal across my heart 

As softly as the south-wind 
Stirring the leaves apart — 

While words too lightly cadenced 

For aught but poetry 
Would burn themselves forever 

Into my memory. 



43 



SILENCE 

Like snow 

That is falling softly 

Round a lonely house 

At midnight, 

Your silence smothers me. 

Your words 

That I have treasured 

Have grown tenuous and thin 

With repetition, 

And are like the pale uncertain blue light 

Of a candle 

In a darkened room. 

Where I shiver alone 

In the cold. 



44 



BEAUTY WALKS ABROAD 

Beauty walks abroad to-night 

Under the dark fir-trees, 
Garmented with silvery white 
Draperies; 

While with a scimitar of light 
Cutting the clear blue sky, 
The moon declares her infinite 
Majesty. . . . 

But what do I care for the face of night. 

Glittering and cold to see — 
Would that your own instead might 
Bend over me. 



45 



WOUNDED 

I have stript my heart 

In what I have said, 

And now it is shrinking 

Like a wounded thing that's fled 

Into a quiet covert 
Of a deep ferny place, 
Where shadows lie heavily, 
Giving the sun no space; 

And where there is silence 
At noon or with night falling — 
But oh, to hear you 
Calling, calling. 



46 



THE ROAD 

The road I travel has no ending — 
By flower and thorn it winds its way; 
I know not whither it is tending, 
And darkness soon must end the day. 

Yet when I see the farthest star 
Shine through the dim blue night, 
I sometimes think perchance there are 
Meadows whereto it leads with bright 

Unclouded skies — where it is spring 
The long years through. 
And in that lovely far-off blossoming 
I may again find you. 



47 



UNREST 

Would that my heart were like a well 

That I might see down deep into it, 

And finding dross there, 

Might drag it into the upper air, 

Leaving its waters 

Limpid and clear. . . . 

But instead 

It is like a wave 

That is struggling to be free. 

And to cast upon the strand 

The burden it has brought 

From the deep and troubled sea — 

Sea-weed that holds light 
Like a drowned woman's hair, 
Or spars that are broken 
By the ocean's mere ecstasy. 

Would that my heart were like a well. 



48 



FLOOD-TIDE 

Your life is like a current 

Swift and smooth and strong, 

Flowing between happy vales along 

Unconsciously 

Upon its highway 

To the sea; 

And shall I break 

Upon it with the torrent 

Of my song — 

Heedless of right or wrong — 

Passionately, 

Driven by a force more strong 

Than death. 

And stronger than the breath 

Of life in spring 

When bare woods wake 

To blossoming? 

Your life is like a current 
Swift and strong — 
And shall I break 
Upon it with the torrent 
Of my song? 

What though the sky 

Be paling in the west. 

Morning is breaking into color 

In my breast — 

Morning and heaven's awakening; 



49 



And were your heart 

As cold and still 

As aisles of ice 

In dark and lonely forests, 

Where pine-trees shake 

In winter winds 

Their crystal dice, 

Like long lean-fingered fates 

At play 

Upon the chance of life — 

Ah, were you cold and still 

As aisles of ice. 

The crimson rose of dawn 

Within my heart 

Would beat with blood-red throb 

Beneath your breast. 

Burning the icy stillness 

Of your rest 

Into ecstasy. 



50 



WINTER TWILIGHT 

When winter twilight comes upon the city, 

I see blue gentians 

Blooming beside deep pools 

Near dark forests, 

And pink and purple iris 

Flowering in June gardens. 

I see great stars 
One by one in wide skies 
Over pale deserts. 

With molten silver gleaming under tall 
palm-trees. 

I see mad waters swirling in swift eddies 

Over sharp stones 

In great swelling torrents 

Down steep mountain-sides . . . 

When winter twilight comes upon the city. 



51 



ANGUISH 

Pain is cutting through my heart, 

Like a thin knife, 
With the keen abiding smart 

Men call life. 

Pillowed cool in marble state, 

Ah, let me sleep. 
And afar from love or hate. 

Bury me deep. 



52 



UNHEARD 

Like the keys 

Of old spinets 

Once given to music, 

Or the trees 

In apple-orchards where linnets 

Sing in cool wet April dawns, 

That are now mute and unheard- 

So is my song. 

I must be silent 

As the hushed moment 

When the round sun 

Slips quietly 

Over the rim of the far horizon 

Into the sea — 

Since you are lost 
What song is left to me ? 



S3 



LONELINESS 

My soul is sighing with the winds 
That search the winter plain, 
Remembering that poppies there 
Once burned the golden grain. 

She walks the furrowed fields of snow 
As ghostly clad as they, 
And in the stark and lonely night 
Dreams of the sub-robed day. 

She peers into a forest where 
No live thing is astir, 
And shivering she falls asleep 
Under a frosted fir. 



54 



FEBRUARY 

Upon the black wet earth 

I walk 

While I listen 

To the talk 

Of birds that breast 

The icy wind 

Their timid friends 

Have left behind — 

And though 

There is no burgeoning, 

Nor any bird 

That dares to sing, 

Gold willow-wands 

Bespeak the spring. 

And point 

Their magic sceptres to 

A patch of sky 

As clear and blue 

As any late 

For-get-me-not 

Half-hidden 

In a mossy spot. . . . 

And while the snow 

Trips over hills 

As lightly as a child 

That fills 

Her lap in June 



55 



With daisies, 

Sudden vivid green 

Amazes 

Eyes forlorn 

And city-spent 

From seeing beauty scorned, 

Or rent 

By the many ugly scars 

Wherewith man 

His progress mars: 

Thus in the hovering 

Moment when 

Mad swelling streams 

Divide the glen, 

And winter cleaves the year 

With spring, 

I lift my surging heart 

And sing. 



56 



YOU AND I 

You are like the hoar-frost 
That comes in winter's train, 
Cut in stars of crystal 
On the window pane — 

And I am like a garden 

Wet with summer rain, 

With flowers broken on their stems 

That will not lift again. 



57 



WHEN SPRING RETURNS 

When spring returns 
Upon the wind, 
And blue-birds dart 
About the sky, 
Then I shall sing 
Right merrily. 

When willows change 
Their gold to green. 
And maple-trees 
With burning tips 
Press silver clouds 
Like lovers' lips. 

And yellow dandelions play 
With wanton grasses 
Through the day — 

Then more glad 

Then field or tree 

My very inmost heart will be — 

When spring returns 
Upon the wind. 



58 



SCOURGE 

Life, I would forget you if I could, 

For you have cut and bruised me 

On your sharp grey stones 

When I have dared to dash upon you 

In a sea of dreams. 

You rattle in my mind 

Like dead men's bones 

Sepulchred in a sea-chest 

That is pounded by the surge, 

When you lash me 

With the scourge 

Of memory. 



59 



CONTRAST 

You are like an arrow 
That is straight and true — 
I am but a summer wind 
That would have shaken you. 

Curved the bow yet taut the string 
That drives you toward your mark- 
While like a bird on broken wing 
I tremble in the dark. 



60 



MY THOUGHT 

My thought leans out to you 
Far in the still blue 
Night, as a birch-tree 
Bends over a stream. 

Have you forgotten me, 
Or can you still see 
My face bending over you 
Out of the still blue 
Night, as in dream? 

Whisper your love to me — 
Breathe it to flower or tree. 
Rain-drop or sunlit gleam; 
My thought bends over you- 
Life is a dream. 



61 



A FOREST 

My heart is like a forest, 
Wit^h hidden recesses 
And secret places, 
Where you alone 
Have found the way. . . . 



62 



MIST 

Thought, why do you burn me 

As the street-lamps burn the mists 

Of evening 

When they press 

Their hot red fingers 

On the tear-wet cheeks of day — 

Will you not let me forget? 

Make me secure in loneliness, 

And wrap me 

With the mist 

That wraps the hills, 

That I may be 

As cold and grey. 



63 



SUMMER STARS 

Love and peace can never dwell 

Side by side, 
For peace is like the snow that fell 
At Christmastide, 

And love is but a torch that burns 

And scars — 
Trembling with red and blue by turns 
Like summer stars. 



64 



DO YOU WONDER 

Do you wonder that I sing 
Of spring's returning — 
Of forest and of star 
And of all things that are 
Compact of beauty 
And of yearning? 

For though I may not yet find peace 

Within the strong 

And uncurbed passion of my song, 

My soul at least may sing 

As the waves sing — 

Or swing through space 

As planets swing — 

In harmony 

With moonlit tides and spring, 

High-hearted, free, alone and proud. 



65 



FORGIVEN 

Like the touch of fur 
Upon my cheek 
Is the thought that your love 
Is mine to keep. 

My heart is as warm 
And soft in my breast 
As a ring-dove asleep 
In her soft warm nest; 

And I am as calm 
And as full of peace 
As the midnight snow 
That is falling like fleece. 



SG 



DOMINOES 

As up and down the world I go 
I wear a colored domino, 

And in passing should you ask 
Why it is I wear a mask, 

I would answer, "Would you show 
To others all your joy or woe?" 

In the world as at a ball 

Or midnight frolic one and all — 

Dressed in blue or black or rose — 
Are wearing colored dominoes. 



67 



PRELUDE 

Spring tells her secrets to the night 
As she stands at winter's gate, 

Young and trembling, wan and white, 
All too prone to hesitate 
Now to claim her royal state. 

Over evening hills she tripped 
By enticing airs beguiled, 

Young and warm, and rosy-lipped. 
Slim and naked as a child, 
With eyes as blue and wild: 

And she begs of winter room 
Where she yet may rest unseen, 

While her weavers at their loom 
Fashion her bright robe of green. 
Flecked with threads of silver sheen. 

Spring tells her secret to the night. 
Young and trembling, wan and white. 



68 



WHAT IS TIME 

What is time — 
What is space? 

Time, the hours 
That interlace 
To hide from me 
Your face. 

What is space 
But a pathway 
Made of steel, 
W'here the turning 
Of a wheel 
Carries burning 
W^ord for word 
To a distant place. 

What is time — 
What is space? 



69 



WILD-GEESE 

Lift up your eyes 
And you will see 
Wild-geese flying 
Over pale grey skies — 
Like souls of the winds 
Alive and free — 
Lift up your eyes 
And you will see. 

Lift up your heart 

To the young spring night, 

And she will open 

Her own to you — 

Like a dark blue flower 

Stabbed with light — 

Lift up your heart 

To the young spring night. 



70 



A CLOSED BOOK 

Life lies between us 
Like a closed book. . . . 
Yet its polished surface 
Is satin to the touch, 
And the scent of its leather 
As the breath of roses 
On a June night. 



71 



MARCH WIND 

Unsheathed from its scabbard 

The keen blade of the March wind 

Is searching the bare branches 

Of the silver beech-trees. 

Velvet moss is wrapping the chill wet earth 

As with a blanket. 

The grey sky leans heavily 

Upon the strong shoulders of the steel-blue hills. 

Flashing between the mottled white and tan 

Of tall sycamores, 

A turbulent stream plunges madly — 

Cutting the pale thin green of the meadow. 

Tawny buds in feathery fountains 

Are breaking with delicate grace 

The sharp outline and hard color 

Of the steep ridges. . . . 

What is there in the austere beauty 

Of the young spring — 

Cold and pure and expectant — 

That tears me with an agony of aching, 

And sends my heart searching 

With the hunger of the March wind ^ 



72 



AT TIMES 

At times it is a lonely chord — 
A strange and lovely haunting word, 
Or flash of color that may bring 
You back as if on level wing. 

Again a moon that cleaves the dark 
May serve as your returning bark — 
For with all sudden quick delight 
You come to me by day or night. 



73 



\ 



74 



\ 



DAFFODILS 

Daffodils are knocking 
At spring's closed door, 
Impatient of their waiting 
To carpet her floor. 

Rude winds of winter. 
Stop your rough blowing, 
And give the yellow daflx)dils 
Their spring showing. 

Woo them April sunshine — 
Kiss them silver rain — 
Welcome all their blossoming 
To the earth again. 



WIZARDRY 

Love came to me out of the shadow 
On hushed and stealthy feet, 
But his face was like the morning. 
And his eyes were wild and sweet. 

He led me across the meadows, 
And over the silver streams, 
Into a place of silent stars 
And quiet dreams. 

He gave me no food or raiment. 
Nor wreaths to bind my hair, 
But he wove thin veils of amethyst 
My spirit might wear. 

He pressed a lute into my hands. 
And bade me then to sing — 
But in that place of silence 
I waited listening. 

I heard the noiseless footprints 
That fall upon new snow, 
And even the sigh of April 
When blossoms blow. . . . 

Love came to me out of the shadow 
On hushed and stealthy feet. 
But his face was like the morning. 
And his eyes were wild and sweet. 



75 



\ 

\ 



THE CALL 

I shall go out 
To meet the spring 
Where secret woods 
Are blossoming, 
And turn my back 
On life and duty, 
That I may keep 
My tryst with beauty. 

My tryst with beauty 

I must keep. 

To save my sluggard soul 

From sleep. 

Lest I should fail 

To mark each thing 

That trembles in 

The lap of spring. 

Then in the lap of spring 
I'll lie, 

While small birds flit 
About the sky. 
And listen to 
Their heralding, 
With pagan joy, 
The wild sweet spring. 

I shall go out 
To meet the spring 
Where secret woods 
Are blossoming. 



76 



APRIL 

I — Pursuit 

I have followed you 

Through the long year, 

April, 

To find you here 

In this beech-wood. 

With your green kirtle 

Spread on the hillside, 

While you dip 

Into a silver stream. 

Must you ever ensnare me 

With your shy girlhood. 

And are you not fair enough 

Without tangling your tawny hair with violets? 

Why do you still 

Elude me 

When I seek to enfold you, 

Turning your face northward as you trip 

At twilight 

Over a misty hill ? 

II — After Rain 

Light is tremulous again 

After the fresh spring rain, 

While numberless little secret buds. 



77 



Embroidered in silvery gauze 
And infinitely whorled, 
Are breaking into fragrance. 

The passionate purple stain 
Of judas-trees 
Protests in vain 
Against the whiteness — 
The inviolate bloom — 
Of dogwood. 

The hills are splashed with golden broom, 

And blue violets are wedded to pale crocuses 

In the cool wet April grass, 

While in the windless air 

A thrush sings 

Of bridals and of blossomings. 

Can this be Eden here, 
With Eve hidden 

Under some sweet-scented rain-drenched apple- 
bough ? 

For but a moment now agone 

I marvelled to see 

A sleek and indolent serpent — 

Subtle, malevolent — 

Pass beside me. 

Gliding warily through tall grass. 

78 



Ill — Purple 

Strip that purple scarf off, April, 
That you wind so tightly round my heart. 
Is it not enough that you come to us 
Trailing your garments of green and silver- 
Tearing our hearts into shreds 
With your young beauty? 
Why must you wound us 
With the color of grapes 
That belong to your sister, autumn ? 

Strip that purple scarf off, April. 

IV — I Have Not Lost You 

I have not lost you yet, 

April, 

For you are still drawing your thin veils 

Around your bare young limbs. 

To shield them 

From the cold air. 

Dogwood is weaving pearls 
, Into your bright hair, 
While you tread carelessly upon violets. 
Lifting your proud head into the skies — 

And I hear music 

Still trembling on your lip in dreams 

In silver harmonies 

Of gurgling streams. . . . 

I have not lost you yet, 
April. 



79 



SPRING VOICES 

Ole Mr. Frog got a mighty fine note — 

Mr. Whip-poor-will sing wid a sob in his throat — 

But it gives me fear in de dark to hear 

Mr. Owl holler out, " Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o?" 

An' I say, "Mr. Owl, howdy you do?" 

But he holler out again 

Jus' "Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o,?" 

An' I say right quick, 

'^"'Jim Jones an his wife 
Wuz at my house las' nighty 
An Gord knows who-all 
Wuz at my house las' night.''' 

Mr. Frog call out from de edge o' de pond — 

Mr. W^hip-poor-will, he mighty soon to respond — 

But it gives me fear in de dark to hear 

Mr. Owl holler out, "Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o?" 

An' I say, "Mr. Owl, its me an' you," 

But he holler out again, "Who-o-o, who-o-o, 

who-o-o?" 
An' I say right quick, 

''Jim Jones an his wife 
Wuz at my house las' nighty 
An Gord knows who-all 
Wuz at my house las' night." 

* This refrain is a fragment of a negro folk-song 
given to the author by an old slave, who recalled 
having heard it sung in her youth on a Virginian 
plantation. 

80 



An' Mr. Frog he say dat he don' know, 

An' Mr. Whip-poor-will holler, **Dat ain' so." 

But it gives me fear in de dark to hear 

Mr. Owl holler out, " Who-o-o, who-o-o, who-o-o?' 

An' I say, "Mr. Owl, t'ain' nobody but you," 

An' den I sneeze, "Ker-ketch-er-koo!" 

An' I run right quick, 'cause 

Jim Jones an his wife 
Wuz at my house las' nighty 
An Gord knows who-all 
Wuz at my house las' flight^ 



81 



WORDS ARE TOO TATTERED 

Words are too tattered and thin 
To tell my love for you — 

I could paint it in April sunsets 

Caught in a mesh of silver laces 

In the boughs of young trees, 

Or in gardens that are stained with poppies. 

I could sing it in the rhythm of high seas 

Breaking upon sounding beaches, 

Or be silent as snow 

That is softer than fleece — 

Words are too tattered and thin 
To tell my love for you. 



82 



SEARCH 

I have hunted you down the garden-path 
Out in the soft spring rain, 
And under the lovely starlit sky 
I have looked for you long in vain. 

But I know that you are as far from me 
As a star at the heaven's height, 
That is fixed forever immovably 
In the changing tides of night. 



83 



/ 

GIVING 



I gave to him a blood-red rose 
But he gave it back to me — 
It pierced my finger with its thorn 
Till I wept bitterly. 

I gave to him a white rose — 
As white as it was fair — 
He hid it from me in his heart, 
But I have found it there. 



84 



GHOSTS 

I am not the I you think I am — 

Nor you the you. 

We marked the flight with the naked eye 

Of a bird that flew 

Across the sky, 

But not its hue — 

We heard it cry — 

Ah, that is true. 

But it sang no song as it passed us by 

To sparkle down the blue; 

Its color and flame we never knew. . . . 

I am not the I you think I am — 

Nor you the you. 



SS 



MIRRORS 

I 

Alone as a child in tall grasses 

Under mimosas blossoming, 

Languorous from their sweet scent — 

As of peaches grown ripe in the sun — 

With only a cat-bird's complaint 

Piercing the midsummer silence. 

Or the wiry monotonous chanting of jar-flies, 

I lived in a golden web of dreams, 

With magic to touch all my thought 

With light and the hot breath of noon. 

II 

Again indoors from a window 

I gazed at the buff-coated green 

Of the sumptuous leaves of magnolias, 

With their soft and velvety petals 

Spilling pale fragrance from chalices 

Of lovely and waxen white bloom; 

Or through the shimmering veils of heat 

At the yellowing fields of grain, 

Where color was wont to run riot 

In a tangle of poppies and larkspur. 

Ill 

At times on the edge of old forests 
I shared in the cool luscious melons. 
Pink at their hearts as crepe-myrtles, 

86 



That were offered on tables of stone — 
Not by Druidical priests, 
But by laughing and merry sweet girls 
To youths beguiled by their beauty. 



IV 



Then I can remember all my savage joy 

When the thunder pealed 

And the lightning stunned, 

And rivers of rain were pouring 

In passionate pelting storm. 

And I marvelled to see 

The iron-hooped barrels of water 

Caught from my dreamland the clouds. 



There were roses at sunset in gardens 
Afterwards, brimming with rain-drops 
And sweetness, dropping their petals 
Like carpets for fairies to dance on. 



VI 



But drawing the heart of a child 

More than beauty was the cow-pen at twilight 

With its strong warm smell of the stalls. 

And the black women milking the udders 

That streamed with their plentiful whiteness; 

Or the dairy as deep as a dungeon 

87 



And dank with the stain of stone walls, 
Where dusky girls balancing milk-pails 
Were lithe as young caryatides 
Bearing the weight of carved capitals; 
Or pouring out cream as if nectar, 
Where butter was blooming like flowers 
In rose-patted circles of gold. 

VII 

Then evening fell deep in the low-grounds 

By willow-grown banks of the river — 

Tawny and sluggish and baffling — 

Gliding between the tall rows 

Of corn in voluptuous beauty, 

While frogs sang loudly in chorus 

In the rank and weed-scented dusk 

To the far-away plantation harmony 

Of a negro alone in the twilight, 

Returning from work at the end of 

His long and arduous day, 

Where under the pointed black cedars 

Many a comrade lay sleeping — 

There in the shadows of evening — 

In graves that would ever be nameless. 

VIII 

Yet fairest of all was the moonlight 
From under the tall Gothic arches. 
With their slender columns of marble 



Tripp'ed like birch-boles in forests; 
Moonlight falling on roadways 
Winding and white under oak-trees 
Or evergreens — cedars of Lebanon — 
Black in the summer-night shadows, 
While valleys were pale with the mystical 
Maze that the moon was still weaving, 
Trailing her silvery gauze, 
And drenching the world with her beauty. 

I lived in a crystal globe of dreams. 
With magic to touch all my thought. 



89 



THE SEA 

I — Downs 

I would have you walk with me 
Over the green downs to the sea; 
I would wait and watch with you 
The white sails flit across the blue; 
I would see the young gulls flying, 
And my heart would be replying 
To their freedom and their ecstasy 
Because you were alone with me. 

I would hear the cattle lowing 
And the south-wind softly blowing; 
I would watch the evening sky 
Clothe herself in majesty; 
I would hear the doves' faint cooing 
In their plaintive twilight wooing — 
As in old dead days of Greece, 
By her beating azure seas. 

II — Foreboding 

Evening is slowly creeping across the sea; 

The waiting beach 

Receives into her lap 

The little tired home-returning waves; 

The golden rocks are barnacled with infinite life; 

Sea-weed is strewn untidily upon the sand; 

So was it yesterday and yesterday — 

So will it be tomorrow 

When sorrow 

And I are far away. 

90 



Ill — Like Ships 

Hearts are like ships 
Pulling at the ropes 
That hold them 
To their moorings — 
Straining to be free. 

IV — Rhythm 

Why should I go alone beside the sea 

In search of peace — 

Where sound may never cease — 

But that I feel my heritage to be 

Part of her age-long rhythm and her unity; 

And that she by right of her imperious word 

May still the voices that are stirred 

Deep in my soul continually, 

Making them one 

With her great diapason 

Of infinite harmony. . . . 

V — A Moment 

White cloud, white foam 

And dark blue sea; 

Grey-veined sand 

The tide leaves 

When it drifts; 

Winds that shift suddenly 

Blowing strong and free — 



91 



A child with lips 

As scarlet as a marsh-lily 

Dipped in white spray, 

And eyes as blue 

As lapis-lazuli. 

VI — Mooring 

O ship now anchored in light 
With all of your voyaging done, 
Calm on a grey-blue sea 
Under a copper sun, 
And sails as closely furled 
As the bright petals upcurled 
Of a sleeping flower — 
Within this quiet hour 
You whisper rest 
To all who are oppressed 
With the unquenchable fire 
Of infinite desire. . . . 

VII— The Beach 

When I go out alone 

On the beach 

In the morning, 

I see cleanliness, stript and naked, 

Lying on the firm wet sand. 

And light glittering 

With ten thousand swords 

Flashing in cross-play. 



92 



And when I watch the waves withdrawing — 

Trailing their veils of foam 

Like brides of the sea — 

In shining mirrors 

I find Nausicaa, 

Shell-pink and white, 

With gold hair wind-blown, 

Poised and curved like a lily-flower. 

Spreading her garments to dry 

In the quivering path of the sun. 

VIII — Island Fog 



The fog is drifting slowly 

From the sea, 

While on my ear there falls 

The sound of bell-buoys 

Tolling mournfully — 

Now soft, now loud — 

As unto souls 

Of mariners lost at sea; 

Whose bodies lie 

Upon the sea's cold bed, 

Wrapped from head 

To foot each in a shroud 

Of sea-moss 

Green and pink 

As scale and flesh 

Of mermaids. 

Who forever dwell 

93 



In jewelled caverns 

Of the deep, 

And wait to greet 

The ships that sink — 

To dive within their hold 

For precious stones 

And coin of treasured gold. . . 

And as the bell-buoy 

Tolls and tolls, 

I seem to see 

The souls 

Of mariners 

Clothed in mystery, 

Coming from phantom ships 

New-beached upon the sand 

Of their once familiar island — 

With silent lips, 

Yet yearning to repeat 

Their tragic history — 

Haunting deep wells 

Of fragrance in the island dells, 

Near lonely cottages 

Where women weep 

Upon their knees. 

While children as they hearken 

To the bell. 

Bow their heads together. 

And whisper to each other 

The sad sea-tales 

Their fathers used to telL . . . 



94 



The fog is drifting slowly 
From the sea, 
While on my ear there falls 
The sound of bell-buoys 
Tolling mournfully. 



95 



SONNETS 

I 

I walked serenely over trodden ways, 

Warmed by kind suns and soothed by quiet 

moons, 
Like one in happy trance who often swoons 
With pure contentment in the drowsy days; 
Fragile as wind-flowers trembling in a maze 
Of dreams, the hours achieved, and distant noons, 
Fainter than through lake-mist, the cry of loons, 
Or siren-calls from ships on lonely bays. 

Then out of some remote empyrean plane 

One lifted me to heaven and high stars. 

Yet borne by wings too trammelled to maintain 

That giddy place beyond all mortal bars, 

Far down the night I fell to earth again, 

Broken and bruised and wounded with deep scars. 



II 



When I am with you I have learned to skim 
Over life's surface: there I am bound 
By trivial rules men make that hedge me round 
And voices whispering within the rim 
Of my own soul's horizon; in that dim 
Demesne even as I falter I have found 
Reason and will true potentates are crowned, 
Though bare of breast, naked and lean of limb. 

96 



But in a realm apart from all of these, 
Where spirit soon with spirit dares to speak, 
Flame leaps to flame in meeting eyes; the worth 
Of truth then proves its ancient power to break 
Each barrier, making us one with hills and seas 
And stars, and all the old beauty of the earth. 



Ill 



I weigh my heart in scales of right and wrong, 
Like merchandise: for as the wind drives bloom 
In autumn sunlight through an infinite room 
Of clear blue space, you drive my thoughts along 
The highways of the mind with might as strong. 
Dispelling every questioning cloud of gloom 
And haunting fear of far impending doom, 
Scattering my words like petals into song. 

Yet in my deepest consciousness I know. 
White are the flowers of love that I now bring 
To you — white as a mantle of new snow 
Or blossoms from the altars of young spring; 
Fair as the altar-bread to one who sips 
Red sacramental wine with trembling lips. 



IV 



Wounded with beauty in this quiet hour 
Beside a limpid pool I muse alone — 
No twilight bell could bring to me the tone 
Of your clear voice more silverly, with a dower 

97 



Of roses prodigal of scent and flower 
As those in Persian gardens long since blown, 
And yet like spectres faded woes are prone 
To haunt the summer dusk with latent power. 

But truth that stalks beside me stark and bold 
Taunts me with sorrow that is sharp and new 
As morning, cutting like frost in cold 
December: the years beyond are few — 
Futile the rose of love I give to you — 
Separate in doom, apart we must grow old. 



98 



A VALLEY 

Life is a lonely valley 
Where beauty walks with tears 
Within a hush of silence 
Like that of quiet spheres — 

Until she sings in rushes, 
Wind-stirred beside a stream. 
Yielding her soul to music 
Born of a golden dream. 



99 



SUMMER NIGHT 

As I came through that lane of honeysuckle 

In the summer night 

Where no sound stirred, 

Suddenly 

I thought I heard 

A hundred voices calling your name 

Thj^ough all the sweet, warm dark — 

Burning it into my brain and heart — 

Can it be 

That honeysuckle 

Has tongues of flame ? 



100 



WHAT IS SPRING 

What is spring to me 
But you? 

What is summer — 
What is autumn — 
What is winter? 

You sing to me 
In every note 
From every misty tree 
In April; 

And when moonlight presses 
Upon the heart of a rose 
In a June garden, 
It quivers like my own 
When you are near. 

It is your voice 
That I hear 
When autumn 
Treads out color 
As from a winepress; 

And when snow 

Muffles sound 

With a silence 

That can be heard, 

It is your unspoken word. 

101 



What is spring to nie 
But you? 

What is summer — 
What is autumn — 
What is winter? 



102 



ASPIRATION 

With stars I climb 
The lonely night — 

I ride the sun 

To the morning's height. 

I search the gardens 

Of the sea 
For flowers that bloom 

Continually. 

I talk to the winds 

From the ocean-plain — 
I hear the secrets 

Of April rain: 

But joy of joys — 

I strive as I can 
To lose myself 

In the heart of man. 



103 



THORNS 

What are these sharp thorns 

That you give to me, Beauty? 

Will you not let me wear your purple flowers 

Without pain? 

Would you have me return again 

To the dusty street 

Of life, 

W^ith noise insistent and loud, 

To be jostled once more by the crowd — 

I who have Jain 

At your feet 

By pools 

That are still and deep? 

It is your voice that cools 

My hot thirst, 

And leads me to choose 

Even the pain 

Of wounds that will not heal 

Rather than feel 

I may lose you 

Out of my life again. . . . 

Ah, give me your sharp thorns, Beauty. 



104 



